


Luci

by Sedated



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Captive, Destiel - Freeform, Except for the murdery Lucifer parts, Good Lucifer, Kidnapped, Lighthearted, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Sam Is So Done, Samifer - Freeform, Stockholm Syndrome, abducted, but the Destiel isn't really significant sorry, i mean kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedated/pseuds/Sedated
Summary: Sam is abducted by Lucifer who is trying to convince him to be his vessel. Dean is trying to save his brother, and Chuck won't share what he's writing. Sam starts to relate to the devil, more than he wants to admit. Lucifer finds himself conflicted.





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adVENTitiious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adVENTitiious/gifts).



> A billion thanks to adVENTitiious for beta reading and super cheerleading. This story wouldn't exist without you. It took me 8 months after writing this to get the courage to post it.

**Dell Rapids, South Dakota**

* * *

 

Sam Winchester sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with the base of his palms, resting his elbows on the wooden table he had his laptop set up on. He could hear the occupants of the motel room next to them running a shower. Idly, he wondered when the last time he'd bathed had been. Probably before all of the apocalypse shit had hit the fan.

Before  _he_  had doomed the world and freed Lucifer.

"Find anything, Sammy?" Dean's voice cut into his internal self-loathing.

"Uh, not much. Nothing more than your run of the mill abductions, murders, and rapes," the younger Winchester brother responded as he shut his laptop, pushing it away from himself.

"That's good, gives us time to focus on ganking Lucifer," Dean replied, grabbing the chair on the opposite side of the table and turning it to face himself before falling into the seat, crossed forearms resting against the headrest as he slouched.

Sam stiffened at the word, flexing his jaw and temple and repressing an angry laugh as he glared down at the dirty, aged wood. "Yeah."

"Sam, is there something you're not telling me?" Dean's gruff voice cut into the silence as he reached over his chair, grabbing his little brother's full beer and taking a swig.

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing, just tired I guess," Sam replied, standing up from his chair. He didn't want to hear what his brother would have to say if he admitted Lucifer was visiting his dreams every single night.

Dean narrowed his eyes as he nursed the cheap beer, but didn't press the subject as his brother laid down on the floral orange comforter of the motel room bed.

"Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite, Sam. Really. I'm itchy in all the wrong places after last night," Dean said as he pulled his brother's laptop across the table, popping open the screen.

Sam scowled into his pillow and eased himself off the bed with a sigh. He grabbed his brown leather jacket off the nearby lounging chair, and gave it a shake before shrugging it on. "I'm going to the store. Need anything?"

"Uhh, a six pack and some pie—bring some pie Sam," the older Winchester said distractedly as he started tapping on the laptop keyboard.

* * *

 

Sam sat his plastic bag on the ground next to the park bench he was sitting on. He needed sleep, but he couldn't without Lucifer walking into his dreams, taunting him about their 'future together.'

He watched a couple of birds jump from branch to branch in a tree situated in the center of the park. It was evening, the park was quieting down and the street lights had kicked on.

He leaned back against the bench and tilted back his head, eyes drifting closed and a warm breeze ruffling his brown hair. The late mid-day sun was warming his cheekbones, and for a minute, he forgot about the apocalypse.

Sam jolted upright, feeling more exhausted than before and looking around himself in confusion. It was night time now, but there was no way he had drifted off for hours. It had felt like he'd closed his eyes for no more than a few seconds.

He looked around for the bag of pie and beer, but it was gone. Someone must have stolen it.

The hunter fumbled for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket and frowning as it vibrated and rang out an unfamiliar song. The caller ID read 'The Devil You Know.'

Sam's eyes widened and he dropped his phone on to the grass as a laugh started to reverberate out of its speakers with the ringtone. The laugh got louder, and the sky above got darker, the black clouds whipping around ominously and blotting out the moon and stars.

Sam felt adrenaline start to pump through his veins and he searched his pockets for his weapons, all of which were gone.

" _Boo_."

Sam felt a puff of cool air against his earlobe, and he leaped forward and spun around in a single frantic motion, chills running down his spine.

Lucifer spread out his arms in a wide welcoming gesture, a smile plastered across his face. "Sam, it's been so long! I almost felt like you were avoiding me," the blond said in a playful voice, strolling casually forward as Sam backed away. "But I knew you had to sleep eventually, so, I just waited. Have you thought over my offer again?"

"The answer is no. It will always be no," Sam said hoarsely, lifting his chin up and glaring at the devil.

"Oh come on now, no need for the dramatics, we  _both_ know that's not true. Detroit, Sam. It's gonna happen. But this isn't Detroit, is it?"

The Winchester felt horror flood his veins as Lucifer looked around, observing their surroundings. This was a dream, and there was no way Lucifer could know what obscure park this was. It was a small town in South Dakota, smack in the middle of nowhere.

The fallen archangel looked back over at Sam, smiling crookedly at whatever he saw on his face.

Sam pinched his eyes closed and tried to will himself into consciousness.  _Wake up, wake up—_

"Wake up!" Lucifer whispered sharply. Sam's green eyes flew open and he found himself so close that his nose was almost brushing the angel's. Blue eyes pinched as Lucifer laughed, and Sam stumbled backwards another step, the backs of his legs hitting the bench and his still-ringing phone getting trampled underfoot.

The archangel smiled. "See you soon, pal," the blond said, reaching up two fingers and tapping them against Sam's forehead.

Sam felt the world go dark and his knees buckle, the sound of Lucifer's ringtone being the last thing to fade before Sam was back in a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Hey! Man, you can't sleep here. You can't leave your dog off-leash, either."

Sam opened wide eyes and looked around, breathing heavily. It was later in the day, but not night. His grocery bag was still cold against his lower leg, and his phone was buzzing in his pocket.

A black-haired guy, who must have worked for the park, was glaring at him unappreciatively and holding a blue leash.

"Here," he snapped, throwing the end of the leash into Sam's lap. "Go on, man. There's a shelter not far from here. They allow pets."

Sam breathed heavily as tiny brown paws settled on his knees, a strangely familiar brown dachshund puppy wagging its tail and staring up at him with pleading eyes and a shiny wet nose.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, standing up and shoving the leash off of himself. He reached for his phone in his pocket. 2 missed calls and a voicemail from Dean. He pushed his phone back into his jacket pocket as the guy in front of him sighed irritably.

 _"Lucifer_."

"What?"

He was coming. Sam leaped off the bench and shoved the park guy out of the way, pausing to grab his grocery bag and ran out of the park, across the street, and down the sidewalk toward the motel. He ignored the expletives the guy from the park was shouting at his back.

The little brown dog chased after him, yipping and barking indignantly. Sam looked over his shoulder in horror as a car came barreling down the road toward the defenseless animal. He swore under his breath and ran awkwardly into the road to scoop up the dog, waving apologetically as the driver screamed and laid on her horn.

The dog licked his face excitedly as he started jogging away. Sam tried to hold it away from his face and it growled, then started chewing at the grocery bag. The six pack fell out the hole, hitting Sam in the foot. "Shit," he snapped, yanking his shoe out from under the box and stopping to set the dog down.

He started off again toward the motel, fear pushing him faster. This time he ignored the puppy's yelps of protest as it pelted after him down the sidewalk, easily keeping pace despite its tiny legs.

He finally got to their motel room and started frantically banging on the door, having lost the dog back at the cement steps. "Dean, it's Sam! Open the door!"

There was a pause and the sound of something falling and then the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Dean in grey sweatpants. Sam pushed him aside and slammed the door behind him, leaning back on it to catch his breath.

"Sammy? Are you okay? Did you get the pie?" Dean asked, prying the plastic bag from his brother's sweaty hand and looking into the bag curiously.

"Dean, we have to go. Now."

"Dammit Sam, did you drink all the beer without me?" Dean asked bitterly, tilting his head at the hole in the bag and putting his hand through it with a frown. He pulled the pie out with an appeased smile, and set it on to the motel table.

"Dean, can you sober up? Lucifer is coming."

"Yeah, yeah, Sam, I know. All right? Give the apocalypse thing a rest for a second. Let's cut into this pie."

There was a scratching sound against the motel room door, and then a muted yip.

"He's here," Sam said breathlessly. "Shit,  _shit_. Where are the keys? Where's Cas?"

"Oh-ho, hey Sammy, here's something that ought to keep your mind off of doomsday," Dean said with a sly wink as he pulled a note off the top of the pie.

_Can't wait to see you tonight. ;)_

_-Lucie_

Dean pressed the post-it note into Sam's shirt, then patted it and smoothed it out to ensure it stuck. "Wear it with pride, loverboy—Jesus, what is that noise?" he leaned over a petrified Sam to look out the peephole on the old door. "Hey Sam, this day just gets better and better for you, there's a wiener dog outside!"

"Dean. Lucifer found me. He knows where I am, and he's coming."

The amusement melted off his brother's face in an instant and real concern replaced the tipsiness in his eyes. "Get the pie, let's go."

Dean grabbed his Colt M1911A1 off the old bed and fished the keys for the Impala out of his sweatpants pocket, shoving the motel door open and letting the puppy run into the apartment where it hid under the table, just as the first clap of thunder shook the sky.

Sam sucked in a breath as the wind picked up, the air suddenly colder than it had been on the way home. He could feel it.

He ran out into the parking lot and pulled open the door of the Impala, shutting it behind him while Dean was backed out of the parking lot.

"Did you get the pie?"

"Goddammit Dean forget the pie," Sam said through gritted teeth.

Dean slammed on the brakes. "This is the last pie I'm getting for a week, we can't starve and we can't stop to get a snack with Lucifer on our ass. I'll be right back," his older brother said, then he threw open his car door and jogged back into the motel room.

"He's right, you really shouldn't stop for a snack," a voice said teasingly from the back seat.

The skin around Sam's eyes tightened and his shoulders tensed. "Lucifer."

"Aww, really, call me Lucie," the devil crooned as he leaned forward from the back seat, plucking the post-it off of Sam's shirt and dropping it in the driver's seat. "Time's up, Sam. No more running."

He paused to smile at the human's angry expression and tapped him gently on the forehead.

The Impala was empty.

* * *

 

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

 

A flutter of wings and a swooping sensation in his stomach later, a hand was on the small of Sam's back, steadying him as he swayed. He was standing on the wooden planks of a deck.

He blinked, his vision swimming for a moment.

"Breathe."

The brown-haired hunter gasped, just then realizing he had been holding his breath.

"Don't touch me," Sam said, pushing the hand off of him and taking an unsteady step away from the blond beside him. "Where—Dean—"

He was startled into quiet as he registered his new surroundings. Intimidating, leafy trees stretched toward the sky. The sun was almost setting, painting the sky purple, pink, red, and orange. The house attached to the deck was built out of red brick and mahogany wood; it fit snugly into the mountainside overlooking a glimmering lake. It was beautiful, but Sam felt sick.

"Where are we?" he asked monotonously, closing his eyes as he heard the fallen archangel approach.

"Detroit. Detroit, Oregon, specifically."

Sam felt his stomach sink. He felt like he might throw up. His face paled. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he said hoarsely to the open air in front of him.

"Are you ready?"

" _No_."

Lucifer frowned, and he stepped in front of the Winchester. His blue eyes were squinted against the setting sun but his eyebrows still arched, and he moved his pursed lips left and right as he dropped his smile. "Okay."

Sam blinked. "I'm  _never_  going to say yes. You can't force me. Torture me all you want."

Lucifer's face split into a closed-mouth grin, and he laughed. "What a generous offer Sam, but I wasn't planning on torturing you. Unless, of course, you're into that kind of thing," he said with a salacious wink.

Sam ground his teeth together. "Shut up."

Lucifer blinked, his eyebrows twisting into fake hurt. "Why, Sam, you're a guest in my home and you're being so rude," he said in a simpering tone, anger thinly concealed under the surface.

"Why are you holding me hostage if you aren't going to make me say yes?" Sam demanded, temple flexing repeatedly. He had no weapon that could save him. He was defenseless, for one of the first times in his life, and it felt horrible.

Lucifer smiled at the cute, human action. "Don't you get it yet? Me, and you—why, we're basically soulmates. I don't have to force you to say yes. You  _will_. Because you understand me, Sam."

"We are—nothing—alike," Sam spat, lifting his shoulders and furrowing his eyebrows.

"Sure we are. Our daddies both expected us to do something stupid for the good of mankind, we refused, so they threw us out. Boohoo." He paused to draw a fake tear down his cheek with his fingertip. "We have a heroic big brother who daddy loves for always agreeing with him. We've always felt different, been outcast. We're freaks. Do I need to keep going? He  _made_  us the same, Sam. You're  _me_. It isn't a coincidence that you are my true vessel." Lucifer had closed the distance between them as he spoke, and now he lifted his eyebrows imploringly, a small smile still on his lips. "M.F.E.O., literally."

Sam blinked, and looked away from the angel's blue eyes. "Why me? You already have a vessel." The hunter felt a surge of shame. The apocalypse was already his fault.

"It has to be you Sam, don't you get it? This was his plan, all along," Lucifer said, his voice breaking into a hysterical laugh that died quickly. "Good ol' dad, when he made humans, angels couldn't touch the earth anymore without your  _consent_. This vessel is a substitute at best. It's going to spontaneously combust. I  _need_  you." The devil's expression had lost its normal touch of amusement, and now his face was contorted in anger

Sam closed his eyes, feeling terrible. It figured that he was made to be a vessel for the devil.

"Well, I'll give you time to think. Toodles, check yourself in."

In an instant, Sam found himself alone again.

* * *

 

Sam got to work planning his escape. There were no cars, probably since Lucifer had wings and all. They were miles from civilization as far as he could tell, but he had left Sam with all of his weapons. He still had his phone, but there was no service.

The house was undeniably beautiful, with skylights, high ceilings, incredible interior design, and a phenomenal view—but he wasn't going to give it too much thought. Sure, it beat bedbug infested motel rooms any day, but he was a hostage, not a guest.

The Winchester leaned tiredly against the frame of the double front doors, his eyes feeling heavy with dark purple shadows underneath them.

He hadn't slept in days, thanks to Lucifer invading every dream he had. He'd gotten maybe half an hour at that park; the exhaustion was starting to catch up. Not to mention that he smelled like roadkill and hadn't shaved since the dreams started. It maybe wouldn't hurt to take advantage of the house, clean himself up, and get a night's rest where Lucifer wouldn't haunt him. The sun was down anyway, and he had no idea which direction to go in to get service.

He shook himself. Dean would go nuts if he could hear him now.  _How about I just stay_ one _night at Lucifer's?_ Yeah, that would go over well.

Exhausted, hungry, and cold, Sam threw open the front door and started down the dirt path along the steep mountainside. The devil's presence left the state several degrees cooler than it should have been that time of year.

Sam was exhausted. He felt his vision blurring as he tripped a couple times down the trail. It was cloudy and dark, and a cold wind was whipping the tree limbs violently.

The hunter stuffed his hands in his pockets and then paused to get his gun when he heard a rustle from the woods. Oregon had cougars, wolves, and he was pretty sure some bears. Lucifer might have demons watching the place too, for all he knew.

Not like it mattered. The archangel would just bring him back if he died. He smiled bitterly to himself as he pulled out his phone to check for service.

He had one bar.

The younger Winchester gasped in relief a couple times, then opened and closed his eyes to be sure he wasn't imagining things. He laughed disbelievingly to himself.

With shaky hands he tucked his gun back into his pocket and started unlocking his phone. He pulled up Dean's contact when suddenly something heavy collided into his back and knocked him to the ground. He could feel teeth closing around the back of his neck.

When his head made sharp contact with a rock his vision fizzled out, and the ringing in his ears drowned out all other sounds.

* * *

 

"Sam.  _Sa-am._  Wake up."

Green eyes blinked tight several times as they fluttered open. He found himself staring into silver-blue eyes, blond bangs, and a familiar amused smile.

Sam sucked in a breath and rolled away, then off the side of the bed with a thump. Pushing himself upright, he leaned against the wall and breathed heavily, his knees bent.

He shook his head, and glared up at the blond who was now sprawled casually across the wooden platform bed, knees bent behind him and his head resting on his palms as he looked down at the hunter.

"Rise and shine,  _buttercup_. How'd you sleep?"

"How did I get here? What happened?" Sam demanded gruffly as he stood up, glaring at the angel as he backed away, keeping a hand against the wall as he did.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and sighed, rolling on to his back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. "You got into a wrestling match with a lion and you didn't win. Maybe you were just trying to spare his feelings, though. Did you really think I would just let you leave, Sam?"

Sam went to reach for his gun only to realize he wasn't wearing his jacket anymore. "What did you do with my stuff?" he snapped.

Lucifer sighed and lifted a hand. Sam tensed apprehensively, but a torn-up, bloodied leather jacket simply lifted out of the hamper and threw itself against the wall next to him.

Hesitantly, Sam leaned over to pick it up, not taking his eyes off of the angel until he was upright with his bloody jacket in hand.

It was ripped apart, with long claw marks dug into the back and the collar ripped off. He searched the pockets, carefully taking out his knives and guns, but his phone was missing.

"Looking for this?"

Sam jumped at the sudden proximity when the archangel spoke less than a foot away. "Don't do that," he mumbled, and he took his proffered phone, shuddering when his fingers brushed Lucifer's. It was hard to get used to.

 _No._ He wouldn't be getting used to it. He wasn't staying here, and he needed to stop thinking like that.

Sam felt his stomach sink in despair as he looked at his phone. It was destroyed. The screen was missing most of its glass and the buttons were unusable. He sank to the ground with his back against the wall and tightened his grip around the broken cellphone. The glass dug into his palm and he pinched his eyes closed, roaring in frustration, and launched the electronic at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Temper, temper," Lucifer said in a quiet voice. Sam made a conscious effort not to look up as the fallen archangel leaned down next to him. "Where's your puppy?"

"What?" Sam snapped, feeling out of breath and looking up into the asshole's blue eyes.

"I got you a puppy. Remember? Frankie? He should have been with you when you got here, now that I think of it."

Sam paused, blinking several times. He opened and then closed his mouth as he remembered the dachshund puppy he had left in that old motel room. "That was a real dog?"

Lucifer huffed, standing up. "Well, of course, silly. I know you always wanted one. But you left him in South Dakota, didn't you? I'll be right back."

Sam was alone in the room again. He held his knees to his chest and pinched his eyes closed, resting his forehead against his arms.  _Why was this happening? When would Dean come to bust him out? What was Satan's plan? And why the hell did he actually feel bad for leaving a dog he got from the_ devil _?_

There was a popping sound, and instead of Lucifer reappearing in the room, the dachshund puppy from yesterday appeared alone and waddled on his four stubby legs up to the distressed human. He laid down, resting his furry chin sympathetically on Sam's toes.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is shorter, next one is longer. Thank you adVENTitiious for being a great beta!

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

 

Dean roared, slamming his fist against the old fridge in Bobby's kitchen, a beer clenched in his right hand. He breathed heavily and rested his forehead against the plastic. "It's all my fault Bobby. Satan is torturing my brother right now and it's on  _me_."

"You need to calm down son, before you break something. We don't know that yet," Bobby Singer said from his wheelchair in the study area of his house.

"Hell Bobby you're right. I'm sure Lucifer is trying to win Sam over with rainbows and puppies right now," the Winchester said scathingly over his shoulder. "Maybe even taking him out to dinner. Now, I'm going to go find Cas so we can save my little brother."

Bobby scowled. "Watch your tone, boy—Sam is family to me too. Lucifer has to get his consent, doesn't he? Sam is tough, and Lucifer ain't an idiot. You need to stop panicking and actually use that brain of yours," he said, wheeling over toward the eldest Winchester brother. "I know it's hard sitting around doing jack, but that's what we gotta do until your winged friends gets—"

"I found him," Castiel said, his voice cutting into the room suddenly. Dean shoved his unopened beer on to the kitchen counter and straightened up, green eyes widening.

"Uh—hi," Chuck, the prophet said, leaning away from Castiel, who had his bicep in a vice grip.

"Chuck?"

* * *

 

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

 

Sam stepped out of the shower and grabbed one of the fluffiest towels he had ever seen off of the rack. He wrapped it around his waist and walked over to the long mirror that hung over the master bathroom's counter and sinks.

Despite whatever had happened last night—he thought maybe he'd been attacked by a cougar, based on Lucifer's childish explanation—there wasn't a mark on him. No injuries, no pain even. He felt better than he ever had since the apocalypse had started, and that made him feel guilty.

He'd washed off a lot of blood, so he was pretty sure he hadn't died, but it seemed like he probably came close to it. No one could lose that much and just walk it off the next morning. Lucifer had definitely saved him. Why he hadn't let him die and simply brought him back was beyond him.

Sam ruffled his wet hair with the towel and then used it to dry his freshly-shaven face. The tile in the bathroom was heated, a nice touch, but he was doing his best to remember that nothing was nice when you were a prisoner. He dropped the towel unceremoniously to the ground.

Inspecting the dark pile of clothes, the Winchester noticed a piece of paper tucked into the collar of the folded shirt. He pulled out the note and unfolded it.

_Here are some clothes. I'm in the kitchen._

_-Lucifer_

The 'i' in the name was dotted with a heart. Sam flexed his jaw and temples angrily and put on the jeans and black t-shirt, leaving the burgundy plaid button-up on the counter. He wasn't going to play dress-up for the devil.

Not knowing what else to do and putting a scowl firmly in place, Sam left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

 

"Oh! Uh, hi Dean," Chuck said squeakily, looking scared and glancing left and right to find the nearest exit. Castiel kept a hold of his arm. "Long time no see, I guess."

"Cas, you're a genius," Dean said, relief evident across his features. Cas let go of Chuck's arm and smiled, eyes still narrowed in his normal, serious expression.

"Actually, I'm an angel," he said. "I thought the prophet was our best bet at discovering Sam's whereabouts."

Dean paused, lips slightly agape as if he were about to explain what he meant, but he shook his head instead. "I knew we could count on you, Cas."

Bobby raised on eyebrow skeptically at Dean's comment but turned a kinder expression toward Chuck, who was rubbing his arm where Castiel had been holding on. "Want a beer?" he asked.

Chuck blinked at the wheelchair, and seemed startled by the offer. "Uh—sure, thank you, Mister...?"

"Call me Bobby," the man responded gruffly as he wheeled himself over to the fridge, getting a beer for the prophet and popping off the cap.

Chuck smiled thankfully as he took the offered drink. He took a sip, choked a little and pulled the bottle away from his mouth in confusion. "Um, this is, water."

"He's clean."

Chuck blinked several times and jumped when Dean grabbed him by both shoulders, spilling holy water from the beer bottle on the floor.

"Where is Sam, Chuck?"

* * *

 

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

 

When Sam opened the bathroom door, Frankie the dachshund was sitting outside. He started wagging his tail and bounded after the hunter as he headed into the hallway and out of his bedroom—no,  _the_ bedroom; it definitely wasn't his. He wasn't staying here.

The little dachshund tried his best to keep up when he got to the stairs, maneuvering his awkwardly long body down them one at a time, all the while wagging his tail at Sam.

Sam sighed as he waited halfway down the steps for the little dog. "Does he even feed you?" he asked under his breath as he bent over and picked up the puppy.

"Oh Sam please, I know how to take care of a puppy."

Sam jumped and almost fell down the stairs with the puppy in tow, but Lucifer grabbed his shoulder to steady him, raising a blond eyebrow and quirking up one corner of his mouth in a smirk.

The dachshund's little tail started wagging, hitting Sam in the arm as the puppy leaned toward Lucifer, licking the hand still on Sam's shoulder.

Sam stepped away, his stomach feeling tight. He swallowed and gritted his teeth as the devil's smirk widened. "Can you—stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" Lucifer tilted his head forward and to the left, eyebrows raised.

"Teleporting. Touching me. Both," Sam muttered, carrying the dog down the rest of the stairs and trying to ignore the archangel trailing after him.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, Sam set down the puppy. It gave him a few messy kisses on the cheek before running off toward the back door, its collar activating an electronic dog door and letting it out into a fenced yard.

Lucifer sidled next to him, humming to himself.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked quietly without looking over. "What do you want?"

Lucifer smiled at Sam's turned cheek and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want you to understand."

"Understand what?" Sam asked finally, shoulders slumping as he reluctantly looked at the blond.

Lucifer pressed his lips together and turned his eyes toward the large archway. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat."

* * *

 

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

 

"What do you mean you  _can't say_? Tell me where my brother is now, or—"

"Dean, don't," Cas reached out a hand to grab Dean's shoulder. "The archangel protecting the prophet will smite you if you finish that threat."

Dean heaved an angry breath, his jaw set and his green eyes full of rage. He let go of the prophet's shoulders—which he had been shaking just a moment prior—and stepped back, exhaling slowly.

"Chuck, please, it's Sam," he said in a low voice. "It's my baby brother. Please. Just tell me if he's okay. Tell me something, anything."

Chuck looked very shaken up, his eyes wide. "I promise he's okay Dean."

Shoulders slumped, the older Winchester sighed in relief. "Why can't you tell me where he is?"

"Because—you can't, it isn't written that you know. I can't tell you. You can't rewrite it," Chuck said, reaching up to tug his own hair. "Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen either, oh no, oh no—"

Castiel vanished from the room, and Dean gritted his teeth. He hated when he did that.

The angel reappeared seconds later, startling Dean with his proximity as he pressed a handful of papers into his chest, standing only a few inches away.

"Here. All he has written so far," Cas said. Dean took the proffered papers with a look of surprise, and Castiel turned around, stretching out a laptop toward the prophet. "And your machine. For scribing."

"Oh, Castiel, thank you," Chuck said uncomfortably. "I guess this means I'm going to be here a while, huh?" He laughed nervously as Dean sat on the kitchen table, reading the papers with narrowed eyes.

"We need you around until we find Sam. Anything you see could be helpful," Bobby said, flicking a curious gaze between Chuck's anxious expression and Dean's focused reading expression.

"Just, uh, Dean, remember I—I only write what comes to me, I don't actually  _make_  anything happen," the prophet hedged nervously. "I just get drunk and pass out and for some reason I dream things, and—"

"Oregon," Dean announced, throwing the papers back on to the table behind him as he stood up. Chuck visibly relaxed. "Detroit, Oregon. Son of a bitch. We have to go  _now_ , Cas. He says yes in Detroit."


	3. Chapter III

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

 

Lucifer stiffened suddenly from where he stood in the kitchen, and let the fridge fall closed from an open hand. Sam looked up in curiosity from where he sat, petting Frankie at the dining table.

"Sam, why don't we go out for lunch?" the fallen archangel asked after an abnormally long pause, his smile a little too intense as he turned his back to the stainless steel appliance. "I know a great place—"

"Something happened. Why do you suddenly want to leave?" Sam cut the archangel off, eyes lighting up with hope.

Lucifer tilted his head. "I never planned on dining in, I didn't imagine you'd already be so attached to the place that—"

"Fuck you," Sam said, taking his hand off Frankie's head and straightening up. Lucifer's smile fell, his eyes darkening and the temperature dropping a couple degrees. "You're lying—" Sam gasped, reached up, and clasped his throat as he suddenly found himself unable to breathe.

"I think I've heard enough, Sammy," Lucifer said, looking up at the ceiling, the windows frosting as the temperature outside continued to descend. "You're a very disrespectful guest, you know?"

He lifted his hand, and with a flick of his wrist Sam was thrown back against the wall, his chair clattering sideways against the hardwood floor and his face turning red as he attempted to breathe. "Sorry to say, I'm really getting  _tired_  of it."

Sam's panicked expression, the way his eyes searched left and right for a weapon, only served to intensify the archangel's anger. He raised his hand, and Sam was picked off the ground and thrown against the leftmost wall of the room with a loud crack, then against the ceiling, and slowly levitated back down behind the table as the devil crossed the room. The ceiling lamps were tremoring from the impact.

"This is better, don't you think?" he whispered, reaching a hand out to rest on Sam's head as the brunet's face turned a deeper shade of red, his heart beating more frantically than Lucifer had heard before. "Now—" he said, stepping back and clapping his hands together, restoring Sam's ability to breathe, and pausing to let him gasp for breath, "—how about we go and get some lunch? I know somewhere you would like," he sing-songed the last sentence over his shoulder as he turned around and began to walk toward the front door.

Frankie waddled over on his four stubby legs to comfort Sam, who was grimacing in pain and holding his ribcage, still struggling to catch his breath. The dachshund climbed into the hunter's lap, resting his chin on Sam's knee.

Sam could barely move. At least a few of his ribs were broken, and he was pretty sure his left leg, too. Not to mention, he didn't have anywhere to go. Frankie started licking his hand, so he patted his back gently. The little dog's tail started wagging, the motion thumping against Sam's broken leg, and the brunet let out a choked laugh of pain as he shifted the puppy off of the aching appendage with one hand.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall, and missed his brother.

"Here," the word was murmured too close, Sam's eyes shot open just as a finger was pressed to his forehead. Warmth spread from his stomach outward, and suddenly he felt fine, the pain fading as quickly as a dream as the devil healed him. "Sorry about that, you know," the fallen archangel said, still crouched down to look into Sam's eyes. "I may have overreacted."

* * *

 

**Shreveport, Louisiana**

* * *

 

Sam said nothing, and stared blankly at the plates of food in front of him where they sat in a fifties diner. Two whole pies, and a cup of coffee. Dean would be in heaven. Sam repressed a laugh at the irony of his thoughts.

"Oh come on Sam, are you really not going to eat?" the devil said, pouting from where he sat across the table. He was wearing a straw trilby with a black band, and was repeatedly taking it off and trying to settle it on Sam's head when he would look away. He was also dressed in a decidedly beach-like fashion, but Sam wasn't going to ask why, because he knew that was what he wanted.

The brunet scowled at the table, refusing to make eye contact.

"I'm sorry for choking you. There. I said it. What more do you want?" the fallen archangel spread his arms apart in exasperation, rocking his wooden seat on to its back legs as he leaned back. "I could get you another pie, if you don't like these flavors," he said, letting his chair fall back down on to all four legs and leaning over the table to sniff the butterscotch pie curiously. He wrinkled up his nose in distaste and straightened up again. "Maybe they have a demon blood flavor, that's more to your taste, isn't it?"

Sam stiffened, the skin around his eyes tightening as he inhaled sharply. He ground his teeth together and flexed his jaw. Lucifer smiled widely across the table.

"Don't be such a debby downer. We're going on vacation! It's kind of exciting, isn't it?" The blond started to scoot his chair around the table toward Sam, until their elbows were brushing. Sam shivered involuntarily as a blast of cool air hit him out of nowhere. He tried to discreetly scoot his own chair away.

"I want to call Dean," Sam said shortly, when he felt the straw hat settle on to his head for at least the tenth time. "Please."

Lucifer smiled, seeming pleased. He rested his left elbow on the diner table and placed his chin into his palm, his expression contemplative. "Sorry Sam, not until we go on our vacation."

Sam exhaled slowly, looking back down at the table and taking the hat off again. "Okay," he conceded, unsure of what else he could do. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Ah-ah," Lucifer said, sitting back up and wiggling his finger. Sam was across from him now, having moved his chair far enough away that the two were facing each other again. "It's a surprise."

Sam's face contorted in anger. He opened his mouth to retort when the red-headed waitress came back over to their table. "Anything else I can get you boys? Are you even going to touch those pies?" she asked skeptically, raising a pencilled-in eyebrow with a hand on her hip.

Lucifer's blue eyes lit up as he ignored the woman. "I think I know a place you'd like better," he said, and with a snap of his fingers the pies and coffee vanished from the table. The waitress took a step back, her blue eyes wide and her jaw dropped. Sam's eyes widened, and he looked up apologetically at the waitress. He opened his mouth to attempt to explain when a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and the breath was knocked out of his chest.

* * *

 

**Puerto Villamil, Isabela Island**

* * *

 

Sam gasped for breath and found himself sitting outside at a polished, red wood table. The air was tropical and warm, which made the usually uncomfortable blast of cool air that came with traveling with Lucifer somewhat refreshing. The sun was high in the sky, blazingly hot, and a sign a dozen feet in front of him read: Booby Trap. It was adorned with a painting of two birds with blue feet.

He looked around himself in bewilderment. The restaurant wasn't too busy, but it was on a beach. Black rocks jutted out of the blue ocean near the shore. Vibrant green trees that Sam didn't recognize were sprouting alongside palm trees.

"Well? Say something, you're making me nervous," Lucifer drawled playfully from where he sat, a smirk in place as Sam looked left and right in flagrant awe. "You hate it, don't you?"

"Are we on the Galápagos Islands?" Sam asked, his pulse pounding maybe a bit too fast.

"Puerto Villamil, Isla Isabela. What would you like to eat?" the archangel confirmed, and pushed a menu across the table toward the wide-eyed brunet. "If you don't want to eat, we can skip to sight-seeing. Of course, that would require me to heal you periodically."

Pausing to frown at the idea, Sam accepted the menu. "Do you eat?" the question slipped out before Sam could stop it. He mentally berated himself; he shouldn't be making conversation with Lucifer.

The devil smiled, seeming more surprised by the question than Sam. "No, Sam, this vessel is long dead," he replied.

Sam grimaced at the sobering response, and reminded himself why Lucifer had him in the first place. He couldn't soften up. He just wanted to wear him around like a meat suit and destroy the earth.

"Uh, I don't think I'm hungry, thanks," Sam said, his stomach still turning from the thought. Lucifer shrugged, and leaned across the small table to cup Sam's cheek.

The brunet felt a familiar warmth spread out from his core, and he felt rejuvenated; more awake and relaxed. Lucifer pulled his hand away with a curious expression. "Come on, I have something cool to show you," he said, standing up and offering his hand.

Sam hesitated, but finally took the other guy's hand with an air of reluctance.

* * *

 

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

 

"God fucking  _damn it_!"

Dean stabbed the angel blade he was holding into the tree next to him, and spun around.

"Why isn't he here, Cas? What do you mean he isn't here? Chuck  _wrote_  it, he has to be here."

Castiel frowned from where he stood by the Impala, and looked at the ground as a lone car sped by them on the empty back road. "I don't understand. I've looked everywhere. If he is here he is hidden too well to be found."

Dean swore under his breath and his phone began to ring. Angrily, he fished it from his pocket—shooting Cas a frustrated look—and answered the phone. "You've reached Dean Winchester, if this isn't my brother then fuck off."

" _Well, it ain't exactly Sam, but there is something back here you need to see. I take it you didn't find him._ "

Dean deflated at Bobby's voice. "Yeah. We'll be right there Bobby," he said gruffly into the phone, before shoving it back into his jacket pocket. "It's freezing here," he muttered as snow started to sprinkle on to the hood of the Impala.

Castiel watched the snowflakes gather on the car for a moment and then looked up into the sky, his brow furrowed quizzically. He walked up to the angel blade Dean had left in the tree and pulled it out, then stopped just outside the door to watch the wind carry the snowflakes south.

"Come on Cas, don't eat the snowflakes, they're made out of dinosaur pee," Dean said as he pulled open the door of the driver's seat. "Bobby has something for us. It might help us find Sam."

Castiel frowned and looked back at Dean, the snow really starting to come down and gathering on the collar of his trench coat and on the tips of his black hair.

"What is our plan if we do find Lucifer?" Castiel asked as he opened the passenger seat door.

"Grab Sam and run like hell."


	4. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, you should check out adVENTitiious's stories, as she is the amazing beta for this story and a great writer.

**Isla Isabela** **,** **Galápagos Islands**

* * *

Sam sucked in a deep breath of the sweet-smelling tropical air. It was warm, the sun was on his skin, and he was going on a nature hike on the Galápagos. Stanford held trips to the Galapagos, and before Dean had come back into his life, the idea of studying the unique environment on the islands was something he'd held an interest in. He loved nature and science, but with his lifestyle, he'd never thought he'd get to see the place.

It was even more beautiful than he'd imagined. The colors were indescribably vibrant, the flora and fauna were thriving at every corner of the young island. Marine iguanas basked in the sun along the beach, wild tortoises were resting in drip ponds, and Galápagos flamingoes were fishing for brine shrimp in lagoons.

They'd visited the Wall of Tears, which Lucifer had all too cheerfully explained the history of, and even seen some of Darwin's finches. It was probably one of the best days Sam had ever had; which couldn't help but make him reflect on how shitty his life generally was, when day two of being held hostage by Satan was on his top ten list.

Sam paused as he spotted a red-footed booby leap off of a rock in a surprisingly awkward manner and take off over the sea, toward one of the other islands most likely. He peered into the forest hopefully, wanting to get a closer look at the flora of the island that wasn't typically available to tourists.

He looked back over his shoulder to make eye-contact with the blue-haired archangel, who was trailing along behind him with his hands in his pockets. He raised both eyebrows as Sam started to speak: "Can we go deeper into the forest?"

It felt odd, having free-range of a place like the Galápagos. He was surprised by how much Lucifer seemed to know about the island and the animals on it; it wasn't exactly something he had pictured the devil having a profound interest in. And maybe he didn't have an interest in it—knowing something and appreciating it were different things.

Lucifer winked at him in a way that made Sam uncomfortable, before waving his hand off into the forest in a relaxed fashion. "Be my guest."

Eyebrows furrowing, the hunter tried not to overthink the response and instead started into the pristine forest, eyes peeled for fruit and tortoises.

He could hear the angel humming an unfamiliar song behind him, and felt a sudden wave of shame. He and Lucifer were _hanging out_ , when he should be trying to get information, or trying to escape. He couldn't help but feel like he didn't exactly want to escape right then, which only served to make him feel more terrible. Dean would be furious.

Maybe Lucifer was right and they were more alike than he was willing to admit. He'd never felt so selfish.

Sam slammed his heels into the ground when said-archangel suddenly appeared in front of him, extending a beer with one hand. Startled, he took the drink, blinking.

It was a cold beer, probably from the restaurant from earlier. The thought made Sam remember how hungry he was. He went to take a drink but stopped himself, remembering the guilt from earlier.

 _Dean_.

He couldn't get drunk with the devil while Dean was trying to stop the apocalypse. Everything about the situation felt very wrong.

"Actually, I'm good, thanks," he said, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand and trying to avoid eye contact with the angel.

"Oh relax Sam, the world's ending! Live a little." There was the sound of the blond's beer cap popping off.

Sam grimaced at the tasteless joke, letting the beer in his hand fall to his side as he turned away from the fallen angel. "Yeah. And it's my fault."

"Now don't try to take _all_ the credit, I am the devil after all. I work hard for this whole apocalypse thing." Sam stiffened as he heard footsteps behind him. "But I won't deny, I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help." A chin rested on his shoulder and Sam flexed his jaw, anger surging through him at the taunt. He jerked his shoulder out from under the guy's chin and spun around, glaring.

Lucifer sent him an innocent look. "Do you want to go see the marine wildlife now?" he asked, taking a sip of his own beer. "There are orcas, bottlenose dolphins, and even blue whales." His tone was dryly amused, but Sam felt his resolve weaken.

It wasn't like fighting with the devil was going to get him anywhere. Shoulders slumping, he sighed, and took a reluctant drink of his own beer as he thought.

"Okay."

* * *

Sam sighed, leaning back on the beach with his fourth beer in his hand. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed, warm, and like a total piece of shit.

There he was, toes in the sand on a beautiful, exotic coast, watching Galápagos fur seals and getting as drunk as he possibly could—with Lucifer. After he had gone whale-watching—with Lucifer.

And the apocalypse was nigh.

"Here," the archangel said in a lazy tone, handing Sam what looked to be a glass of coke. He looked amused behind black sunglasses. He was shirtless in white board shorts, and in considerably better shape than Sam remembered him being.

He took the offered drink and leaned back on the rock he was propping himself up against, averting his gaze when Lucifer raised his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. Sam still wasn't sure if he could read minds or not.

"Thanks," he said, taking a drink. He tried not to think about why Lucifer was trying to get him smashed; he found it never helped to think too much about the devil's motives. He just ended up confused and stressed. "They're beautiful," he said, gesturing to the furry seals that were flopping around cutely on rocks a mere few feet from them.

"I agree. I love animals," Lucifer replied, startling Sam into choking on his drink.

He spluttered, coke dripping down his chin as he stared over at the blond, waiting for the punch line. None was forthcoming. He was just watching the seals, a genuinely soft expression on his features for possibly the first time Sam had ever witnessed.

"I love the earth, Sam, more than anything," the fallen archangel said, brows pinching together in what almost looked like a saddened expression. "It is, I believe, Dad's most beautiful creation."

Sam was silent, lips pressed together, and he took another sip of the coke.

It must have been stronger than it tasted, because he could feel it coming on a moment later. Or maybe that was the mixed drinks from earlier. Or the piña colada. That seemed more likely.

Lucifer laughed after the beat of silence. "Oh, that's right, you're an atheist," he said, catching himself. "I would be, too. If not for the whole—you know, angel thing." He glanced over at his human companion, who was starting to sweat and looking more than a little uncomfortable.

Sam laughed at the joke as his slowing brain registered the words. The sun wasn't setting yet, but he wasn't about to strip in front of Lucifer, no matter how hot it was.

The fallen archangel scooted over in the sand toward Sam, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The blond gave him a smile, and there was a sudden drop in temperature. Sam sighed in relief and let his eyes drift closed, leaning back as the sweat against his forehead cooled the skin.

"How do you do that?" he asked, keeping his eyes closed even as he felt the angel settle down next to him, their legs brushing and an arm stretching above his head and coming to rest over his shoulders. He was like an air conditioner. Sam would let it slide this time.

"The gift of being trapped in an icy prison for centuries."

Sam winced, his green eyes opening to look over at the blond, who was watching the waves with his sunglasses and trilby, looking every bit human. The hunter felt an unbidden pang of sympathy.

"I'm sorry."

There was a long stretch of silence where Lucifer didn't move, didn't breathe, and Sam tensed, wondering how that could have upset him. Then, the fallen archangel started to laugh in earnest—maybe even a little hysterically—and he slid his arm off his shoulders and grabbed Sam's knee to steady himself. Sam smiled unsurely, taking another sip of his coke and tried not to laugh along, despite how infectious the sound seemed. He was pretty sure it wasn't actually funny.

Eventually Lucifer straightened up, his laughter dying off, but he never responded, he just moved his hand to the ground behind him and continued watching the seals.

"If you love the earth so much, why the apocalypse?" Sam asked, his words starting to slur together just slightly. He swallowed a couple times, and frowned at his empty coke cup, before tipping the glass back and getting a piece of ice to suck on.

"The apocalypse is only going to rid the earth of humans and their structures. Calling it the end of the world is just a dramatization. Humans think anything that gets rid of them is the end of the world. The world will go on without a race of egotistical apes making it difficult for any other creature to survive."

Sam blinked, nodding as he mulled the words over in his head. He handed the empty glass to Lucifer, who set it to the side, twitching his fingers and turning it into soft, white sand.

"I didn't know," Sam said, hiccuping a little.

Lucifer looked over, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to expose amused blue eyes. "Didn't know what?"

Sam shrugged. "That you cared so much about the planet. Kind of like a—tree-hugging nazi."

Lucifer grimaced. "Not quite. Nazi Germany is a great example of why the human race can't continue. All you humans do is kill the planet and kill each other. You destroy everything."

Sam looked down at his hands, and felt bad about nazis.

"But we aren't all bad," he said. "I mean, not Hitler-bad."

There was a muffled sort of laugh, and Sam bristled, but Lucifer just winked at him and pulled off his hat, putting it on Sam's head again. "Mm. I'm sure you recycle regularly." His tone might have been sarcastic, but it was getting hard to tell.

"I think I'm drunk," Sam announced after a few minutes had passed. He was drawing spirals in the sand with his index finger and occasionally pausing to smile up at the devil. He'd never _been_ drunk before. Buzzed, sure, but never how Dean got. Maybe it was his size, or just his personality. He didn't think he could get how Dean got though. He couldn't giggle like that.

Lucifer laughed, and Sam leaned against his side with a sigh. His skin was warm but the air around him was cool, making the island heat bearable. "I can confirm that you are," he replied, wrapping an arm around the brunet.

Some part of his brain told him that he should be bothered, should move, should do _something_ , but he was content to close his eyes and listen to the seals splash into the water. Maybe he'd been drugged. Or maybe he shouldn't have drank on an empty stomach. But he felt less stressed than he had in days.

"Will you be my vessel, Sam?" the words were said quietly, and he could feel them vibrating in the angel's chest as he spoke.

"Uhh-mm, no, sorry."

There was a pause, where Sam was the only one breathing, and then the devil started again.

"Detroit. Right. Maybe next time."

Sam laughed inwardly, and drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter V

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

Sam woke the next morning in a king-sized bed to a wet tongue licking his face repeatedly and a pounding headache. Green eyes cracked open as he pushed Frankie away from his face.

"Ugh," he groaned, covering his eyes with his palms. Memories of last night came flooding back: the island, the whales, the seals, and getting shit-faced—but he wasn't sure when he had passed out. He groaned again, and forced himself out of the warm bed. He had to find Lucifer so he could get rid of the hangover, and then he would be able to think.

Recognizing his surroundings vaguely, Sam realized they were back in Detroit. He must have been really blacked out to not wake up from being teleported. How he got into the bed and under the blankets was another thing he didn't want to think about.

Eventually he made it to the top of the grand staircase, clutching his head with one hand, and Frankie at his heels. He could hear someone moving in the kitchen, and could smell food cooking—which made him torn between hunger and nausea.

The brunet maneuvered slowly enough down the steps that the awkward dachshund puppy was able to keep up. He wandered under the ten foot high archway into the kitchen, settling on to a red barstool by the island. "Hey, could you—" Sam hesitated as his blurry vision focused on the figure cooking on the stove, which, upon closer inspection, was _not_ Lucifer. He did look familiar though. "Who are you?"

The man cooking slowly turned around, hands raised in a surrendering gesture. He was wearing an apron that read: _Kiss the Cook!_ , and was holding a spatula in one of his raised hands.

Sam blinked, struggling to place the guy's familiar face, and then it clicked.

The Trickster.

With a gasp, Sam launched off the stool and picked it up in a single motion, then slammed it against the wall—which was unfortunately drywall, so the legs of the barstool ended up getting stuck. He tried pulling it out of the wall, looking over his shoulder to glare at the Trickster whose eyes were comically wide, but its curled feet seemed stuck.

" _You_ ," he said breathlessly, finally giving up on the stool and pressing his back against the wall. He clutched his screaming head with one hand. "You—you—what are you doing here?" he spluttered, breathing heavily and supporting himself with his other hand.

Then it sank in, and Sam's eyes widened, his hand falling away from his aching head.

It all made sense.

"None of this is real," he whispered, his voice bordering on hysterical. The Trickster looked like he wanted to interrupt, but closed his mouth at the last second. "You made all of this up, in my head. Since when is this all fake, huh? I thought Dean was acting weird that day—Lucifer never even found us, did he?"

"Sam—"

"No, _no_ , it all makes so much more sense now." Sam started to laugh. "Why _Lucifer_ of all people, would take me on vacation—" The Trickster's eyes widened "—why he would get me a puppy, make conversation with me, get drunk with me—" the blond's jaw dropped slightly at that, an excited expression appearing as he set aside his spatula "—why I'm— _attracted_ to him, all of this, this is just _you_ , messing with me!" Sam ended his tangent, looking relieved as he sank down against the drywall, clutching his head in both hands now. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he breathed, his mind running at a mile a minute. How he hadn't guessed this in the first place, when Dean ran off to get a _pie_ instead of escaping Lucifer, he didn't know. He didn't give his brother enough credit.

"See, funny thing—oh man, I _told_ him this wasn't going to go over well if I had to explain it—but I'm not _actually_ a trickster," The Trickster said slowly.

Sam slowly lifted his head to glare at the monster, green eyes narrowed. "I'm going to kill you," he said in a raspy voice. "For what you did to _Dean_ and to me—and _this_ —I'm going to kill you."

Then he let his hands fall from his head and into his lap, and he looked at his palms, different emotions swimming through him simultaneously. He definitely wasn't sad that his and Lucifer's… whatever, wasn't real. No, he wasn't sad about that and he wasn't _going_ to be sad about that. He was the _devil_ , plain and simple, and the real devil wanted to end the world. He definitely didn't love dogs, nature, or science. He didn't love anything. And Sam was happy that once he killed The Trickster he would be back with Dean.

Sam looked up at the blond who was talking under his breath and trying to unstick an omelet from the frying pan, and slowly edged toward the other barstool.

Grabbing the red stool and standing back up, Sam slammed the seat against the counter repeatedly, sending the wooden legs splintering into pieces. The Trickster turned away from his cooking again, eyebrows lifting in surprise as Sam armed himself with a sharp piece of wood.

"Sam," he said, sighing and letting his spatula clatter to the ground this time. "Look, I'm sorry about the brother thing. Really! I am. But you gotta believe me, I wouldn't do that to Lucifer. This is real. As much as you may not like it—or really, really _like_ it, by the sounds of it—it's real, and you can stab me if it makes you feel better, but I'm not going to die."

Sam charged forward, roaring as he thrust the stake into the guy's chest.

Nothing. He just stood there, frowning and looking a little apologetic. Slowly, he reached for the chunk of wood, and pulled it out of the hole where his heart should have been–which miraculously closed itself as soon as it was removed—and placed it back into Sam's open hand, closing his fingers for him and patting his forearm consolingly.

"Feel free to try again, as many times as it takes," he said.

Sam blinked.

He breathed, and he blinked again.

And he let the piece of wood clatter from his hand and on to the ground.

"Gabriel, what happened? I asked you to make an omelet, not to start home renovations."

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

Dean stared at the butterscotch and peace pies on the table in front of him.

He stared, and he blinked, and he held the note that came with them loosely in his hand.

_Enjoy!_

_Love, Sammy and Lucie_

Chest starting to heave and vision starting to blur, Dean crumpled the piece of paper in his fist.

"There was a cup of coffee too, but Chuck drank it," Bobby's voice cut into the Winchester's building haze of anger.

Dean's hands started to shake. Lucifer had Sam and he was rubbing it in his face—his brother, his baby brother.

"How—how did he know, Cas?" Dean asked quietly.

Castiel opened his mouth to respond from where he stood in the kitchen next to Bobby, when suddenly he vanished into thin air. Chuck cringed, and covered his ears.

Dean roared angrily, kicking one of Bobby's chairs over before he stormed off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

Sam froze, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. "Cas?" he whispered.

Still not having been able to accept that he wasn't in another alternate universe devised by The Trickster, Gabriel had suggested they have it confirmed by someone that Sam actually would believe.

And there he was: Castiel, looking confused and alarmed while Gabriel held him by the forearm to make sure he didn't fly away. It almost didn't feel real.

"Hello, Sam," Cas said. It was his voice, and no monster could make an angel appear out of thin air.

Sam felt sick to his stomach. Everything was real, and that was so much worse. Fuck. _Fuck_. Lucifer grabbed his elbow when he swayed—partially from shock and partially from his persistent hangover—and it only served to make him feel worse.

"Castiel! It's so good to see you," Lucifer said, smiling at the black-haired angel, whose entire demeanor changed at the sight of the devil.

"Lucifer," he said hoarsely. "I'm afraid I cannot say the same."

The taller archangel frowned. "You've never been any fun, have you? I'd hoped maybe your time out from Heaven might liven you up a bit. Guess not—still batting for Dean Winchester?" Sam cringed at the mention of his brother. "Oh, sorry Sam, I forgot to get rid of your hangover," the archangel added, looking over at the human and winking suggestively before ghosting his fingers across his cheek.

Castiel tensed and didn't reply, and Sam jerked away from the touch, silently relieved by the warm feeling that washed away his pain and confusion.

"Cas, are you—is Dean okay?" Sam blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt.

Castiel looked between Gabriel and Lucifer before returning his steely gaze to Sam. "Dean is upset."

Lucifer laughed, and Sam sent him an angry look. He took a step closer to Castiel. "Tell him I'm okay," he said. "Tell him not to worry. I can—"

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and the angel was gone again, and Sam felt his stomach sink, pain consuming his hopeful expression. "Sorry, Sam, _I got bored_. Can you blame me? His monotone is just _so_ … ugh."

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

"Give me those," Dean snapped, grabbing the freshly printed stack of papers from Chuck's makeshift desk.

"Dean, wait, not all of that is going into the book," Chuck said in a rushed voice, standing up. "You can't—"

"I don't care what goes in your damn book, I want to find out what's happening to my brother."

Silence followed the statement and Chuck sat back down, grabbing his hair with both hands. "Oh no," he mumbled to himself as Dean walked over to the kitchen table, leaning against it as he started to read.

Bobby wheeled over to Dean. "Dean, I just want you to remember that your brother is with the devil right now, and there's no telling how he's manipulating him," the old hunter said seriously.

Dean paused, looking down at Bobby. "You've read some of this?"

Castiel appeared back in the room before Bobby could answer, and Dean spun around at the popping sound of his reappearance, his green eyes lighting up. "Cas," he said. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I've located Sam."


	6. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to adVENTitiious for helping me figure out what this chapter needed and making it the very long chapter it is now. You are the best ever!

  **Foxburg, Pennsylvania**

* * *

"So Luci, you and Sam Winchester?"

Gabriel was leaning on the railing of a pale wooden deck, resting on his crossed forearms and listening to the crickets while the sun dipped over the horizon. It was a two-story home that stood alone off a quiet backroad. There was a large fenced-in yard with dog toys spread around the lawn adjacent to the house and walking trails that followed a creek up a hill and into some woods.

Lucifer lazily crossed to the side of the deck that his younger brother was on. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Gabriel replied, watching the sun and enjoying the company of family for the first time in a very long time.

He felt a pang of sadness as his older brother leaned against the railing beside him. "I'm sorry, you know."

"For?"

Gabriel closed his eyes, the wind ruffling his hair as he frowned. "For letting them put you in hell."

There was a stretch of silence, and then a hand squeezed his shoulder. "I think living with humans has affected you," Lucifer said. But his tone was more familiar, and that put a small smile on the younger angel's face.

"They tend to do that," he agreed. "Is this dog also going to be for Sam?"

"No. I needed another one since Frankie took to Sam so entirely. Besides, I'm told dachshunds can get lonely without the company of other dachshunds." There was a thinly veiled laugh in his voice, and Gabriel cracked a smile as he turned around, leaning his back against the railing instead, and watching a spider dangle from her web on the roof of the house.

"Your vessel—it's keeping condition better than I would have expected," Gabriel said as he glanced over at his brother, who looked, disturbingly, a picture of human health.

"Yes." His tone changed again, back to the one that Gabriel couldn't remember hearing before the cage.

"If you ever need to talk to someone about—"

Lucifer had moved off the rail, his blue gaze detached, and Gabriel let his sentence end unfinished, snapping his mouth shut. His older brother said nothing and nodded to the house.

Gabriel paused, looking up with interest, and then he heard it.

Muted crying. A slurred string of swears.

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and there was a thump. A woman started sobbing—whether in relief, shock, or sadness, it was a little unclear. Gabriel sighed in exasperation, a pout settling on his lips.

"Well, I usually try to make their deaths a little more creative, try to drive the point home—"

"Hell would make even the vilest of humans repent, rest assured, he's in a worse place now," Lucifer replied, smirking over his shoulder at his pouting younger brother. "Your sense of justice for the humans is adorable, though. Gives me the warm fuzzies in my tummy."

Gabriel smiled. "Speaking of warm fuzzies, let's go get your puppy."

* * *

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

Sam sighed, petting Frankie while he laid on his back on the hardwood floor in the dark, unlit living room of the empty house. He stared up at the impossibly high ceiling and through the skylights, waiting for the stars to come out.

It was admittedly incredibly cool to be able to stargaze from the house. He wondered if he asked Lucifer for a telescope if he could get one.

Sam snorted. _Yeah, get cozy Sam, it's just the apocalypse_ , he could hear his brother's scathing voice in his head. He felt guilty, but he knew there was nothing to do. There was no symbol he knew that could keep an archangel away for long, and as soon as Lucifer knew he was trying to escape, all hell would break loose. He couldn't drive away because there weren't any cars. He couldn't walk away, because apparently if he did Lucifer would just sic wild animals on him.

It didn't help that he'd admitted to himself that he was attracted to the angel—or devil, or whatever—and he was trying to write it off as a weird variation of Stockholm Syndrome. He was living with the guy and they did a lot of things together, and Sam didn't get to be around anyone else. It was probably sort of normal. Not that any of his relationships had been normal. His last one had been faked so he could drink demon blood, and eventually, rescue Dean from hell.

Sam grimaced. His life was weird.

Frankie licked his hand.

After a moment of listening to the ice machine grumble in the kitchen, Sam found himself wondering if Lucifer had killed the people who used to own the house. It seemed extremely functional to be owned by an archangel with no mortal needs.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He tried to brush the thought off, but it was giving him a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach the longer he lay there in the dark, looking at constellations, Frankie's wagging tail occasionally thumping against his side.

The guilt in his stomach only growing, the Winchester finally pushed himself upright, ruffled the red dachshund's furry head, and got to his feet. "Come on, Frankie, let's go," he said and made his way toward the grand staircase.

There were two sets of stairs that curled toward each other, both leading to a bridge that overlooked the main floor and led into two separate hallways. Lucifer's room was down the left hall, and Sam's was down the right.

Having already checked his own room thoroughly for hex bags, and doubting there was anything there that he would have missed, Sam took the left staircase, Frankie at his heels and seeming excited as the prospect of a house adventure.

With a growing feeling of unsureness about snooping through Lucifer's stuff, Sam walked as quietly as he could down the unfamiliar hallway. Frankie barked and ran ahead of him, and Sam grimaced.

He opened the first door on the left.

Closet.

Sighing in relief when it didn't contain any horrible incriminating evidence, like a dead body or suspiciously shaped garbage bag, Sam shut the small closet door.

Tempted to consider his mission accomplished, Sam looked longingly back toward his own end of the house. He was pretty tired, and honestly, he was starting to get the nagging suspicion that Lucifer might not appreciate him rifling through his things. Maybe it would be a better idea to go to bed and wait for Cas to devise a rescue plan with Dean.

He turned back around at the sound of a door creaking open and watched as Frankie nosed open the door to the devil's bedroom and paraded inside of the lit room proudly.

Taking his puppy's lead, Sam walked down the hall the rest of the way and stepped inside, pinching his eyes at the bright lights.

It was surprisingly anticlimactic. The room looked mostly untouched—severely lacking in torture devices, shackled prisoners, and satanic symbols—the king-sized bed was neatly made with a white comforter, there was a tall dresser on one end of the room, a wardrobe in the (mostly empty) walk-in closet, a nightstand by the bed, and a full-body mirror on the wall by the door.

Frankie was biting and pulling on the shoelaces attached to a pair of running shoes that were sat against the closet wall, little growls accentuating each tug.

Sam hesitated a minute before steeling himself and starting the search. He wouldn't be able to sleep unless he knew. The tall brunet began pulling open the drawers of the dressers, then pulling them out to look behind them, hunting for any sign of the previous occupants.

Nothing. Either the house had never been lived in, or the devil had anticipated his curiosity and wiped it squeaky clean.

As he pulled open the doors of the pristine white wardrobe, arms settled around his midriff and a blast of cool air greeted his cheeks. Green eyes widened in horror when suddenly there was a pale golden dachshund puppy being held in front of Sam's face, wide eyes innocent as it licked his nose with a pink tongue, its tail wagging shaking its whole bottom.

Sam's expression melted into one of awe and he stretched up his own hands to take the proffered puppy, ignoring the chest against his back and the breath against his ear.

"I see you've been— _redecorating_."

Sam shivered and held the tiny puppy against his chest. Frankie started to bark in excitement, jumping up and putting his paws on Sam's knee as he tried to reach the new animal.

"I—uh," Sam said as the puppy in his arms looked down at Frankie unsurely. "What's its name?" he changed the subject, petting the dachshund's soft, cream-colored fur, his expression soft as he peered into the puppy's affectionate expression.

Lucifer laughed quietly. "She doesn't have one. I thought you'd like to pick one out for her." The arms around him that Sam had forgotten about retracted themselves and Lucifer crouched down to pet Frankie, whose eyes were starting to roll back into his head with excitement at the prospect of a new playmate.

"I—thank you, I didn't think you would actually…" Sam said, recalling the article he had read to a seemingly (at the time) uninterested archangel about dachshunds needing companionship, and their preference for dogs like themselves. "I mean—she's perfect."

The devil picked up Frankie, letting the dog lick his face affectionately before bringing him closer to the new puppy so the two could sniff each other, and Sam felt his heart constrict painfully as the dachshunds sniffed and licked at each other's noses with matching wagging tails.

"I really like what you've done with the place," the blond remarked as his eyes scanned the drawers that were strewn across the floor of his room and flipped upside down.

Sam looked over his shoulder briefly to examine the room. "Oh, uh, yeah, that. I was looking for something," he said, and then looked back to the puppies.

Seeming satisfied with the vague answer, Lucifer set Frankie back on the ground.

"They'll have to be separate for the first year so they don't bond with each other in an unhealthy way. But we can let them play together for thirty minutes a day," Sam rambled off as he set the new puppy onto the ground and took a step back. "Until they're both a year old. And they'll have to be socialized separately so they learn to think as individuals."

Lucifer seemed to be repressing laughter as he stepped around the puppies. "Oh of course."

Sam froze at the proximity of the archangel when the puppies were no longer a part of the equation and felt a wave of sadness and shame as his own words registered. He wasn't going to be there a year. These weren't his dogs.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, flexing his jaw and feeling a little nauseated as his puppy-induced euphoria began to wane.

The blond archangel watched him leave with a slightly bemused expression. "Sweet _dreams_ Sammy," he crooned after the morose human.

The door slammed behind him, and Lucifer looked down at the cutely wrestling puppies with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

* * *

Sam found himself staring awake at the ceiling, worrying that Lucifer had let them spend more than thirty minutes together, but refusing to get up and check. He was also resisting getting up to pee or get a glass of water because he was pretty sure that if he got up at all he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Without a phone or a laptop, he felt a little cut off from the world. No doubt, that was Lucifer's intent. It was easy to pretend the apocalypse wasn't happening when there was absolutely no evidence of it anywhere around you. He wondered how bad it had gotten on the outside world. He hoped Dean and Bobby were okay.

Then Sam remembered the TV downstairs and felt his stomach do somersaults as he recalled the cable box glowing in the dark of the living room. He _did_ have a way to find out what was happening.

Climbing out of bed without a second thought, the hunter tried to walk as quietly as possible down the dark hallway out of his room. He wasn't sure what Lucifer did at night while he slept; he wasn't even sure if he was usually in the house at night. The thought was oddly disturbing, but Sam brushed off the feeling and listened intently at the top of the stairs.

He didn't hear anyone, so he started to tiptoe down the grand staircase, cringing when the fourth step down creaked under his foot. He paused, waiting for some indication that the devil was awake.

When nothing in the house made a sound, Sam found it only made him a little more uneasy, but he continued down the steps anyway, thankful that for once Frankie hadn't followed him to bed.

When he reached the living room, he made a beeline for the television and grabbed the remote off the stand. He turned on the screen.

The very first channel that the screen turned on to was playing a news broadcast. Sam tried the next channel up to be sure, and it was playing the same broadcast, at eleven at night.

" _Across the globe this week natural disasters have been occurring left and right_ "—the image of the newscast woman's face was changed to footage of a hurricane tearing houses off of the ground—" _but what's happened here tonight is decidedly_ un _natural, as literal fire is raining_ _down from the sky here in Los Angeles and other states according to my sources, sending blazing forest fires across the U.S. with no foreseeable way to control them. Religious street protestors are saying that the apocalypse has_ —"

"Whatcha watching?"

Sam turned off the TV with a jump, turning around to face a half-smiling Lucifer, whose arms were crossed over his chest and eyes were half-lidded in a bored, amused expression.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked in a choked voice, gesturing toward the blank television screen. "Those people, their homes are destroyed, and how many are dead?"

"Sam—"

"How many?"

Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes back toward his right shoulder and looking up at the ceiling. "If you say yes, Sam, I can put an end to all this," he offered quietly, looking back to the human's pained expression. "I can even promise that Dean, Castiel, and Bobby Singer will be spared."

"You want to wipe out humanity," Sam said monotonously. "If you think I believe—"

"But I can make their ends painless. They won't have to watch their world fall apart, they won't have to watch their homes burn down or their family members drown anymore. With you, Sam, I could make it painless. They'd never even know what happened. They would be in heaven. What is so bad about giving everyone in humanity total paradise, freedom from all the pain they're suffering?"

Sam pinched his eyes closed and shook his head, his shoulders slumping forward.

"Tell me what it is you want Sam and I can give it to you. I can give you anything." The words were being whispered now, the archangel suddenly within touching distance. "I want to give you everything."

Sam kept his eyes closed. "I want you to stop. Leave the planet alone, leave everyone alone, stop the apocalypse," he said in a low, rough voice. "Please."

"I can't do that."

Sam turned away from the voice and hung his head, opening his eyes to trace the grain of the wood with his gaze. He was tired, so tired, and he felt sick. He missed Dean. It was too hot in the stupid house, and it started to rain outside, the sound magnified against the skylights.

"Don't do that weather thing," he muttered.

"Sometimes it just rains, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make me so happy. <3


	7. Chapter VII

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

Dean leaned his face into one hand as he turned the page of an old book, bloodshot eyes scanning the page rapidly as he brushed dust off of the text.

"Find anything?" Bobby's gruff voice came from across the room where he, too, was tiredly turning the pages of a large, dark book with a blank cover, written in an unfamiliar language.

"No." Dean's voice was hollow and tired as he turned another page. He'd read page after page recounting Lucifer's terrible strength and supernatural abilities, but no one seemed to be forthcoming with information on his weaknesses—which he had to have, because _every_ monster had them, nothing was invincible. It felt like watching a presidential election commercial over and over again. It probably didn't help that Satanists seemed to be the only ones interested in writing whole books about the fucker.

The older Winchester brother took a sip of the glass of amber whiskey to his left, the glass leaving a ring of condensation on the wooden table, and his eyes narrowed as he came across a passage written in a language he didn't know, followed by an image of a strange symbol.

"Bobby, what's this say?" he barked, straightening up and flipping the book around, pushing it across the table toward the older hunter.

Behind him, he could hear Chuck making a strangled laughing noise, some typing ensuing. He flexed his jaw and resisted the urge to get up and see what the drunk prophet—who had woken up an hour ago from a nap after a 'migraine'—was writing.

Bobby looked up from his own book and peered down at the passage, eyes squinted. "I don't know that language," he said, sounding miffed. "What about your angel pal?"

"Cas," Dean shouted into the air. The angel appeared behind Bobby's shoulder, startling the wheelchair-bound man as he leaned over him to narrow his eyes at the words on the page.

"I've never seen this before," he said gruffly.

Dean tensed, eyes widening. "Can you read it?"

The angel nodded slowly. "This—it could work."

Chuck groaned a little under his breath, the typing growing more frantic, and Dean leapt to his feet, snatching the book off the table and staring at the symbol, memorizing it. "What do we need?"

"The feather of an archangel, the sand of time, and the jawbone of a donkey. I can be of help, but I'm not sure if I will be ejected as well. We have to be careful, Dean, Gabriel and Lucifer are far more powerful than anything—"

"It's Sam, Cas. I can't just let him stay there and play Satan's real housewife of Detroit."

* * *

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

Sam was lying sideways on the pale leather couch with Frankie at his toes and the new puppy (whom Sam had refused to name in an attempt to not get too attached) against his chest, within kissing-distance of his chin.

Looney Tunes was playing on the large, curved TV. Wile E. Coyote still couldn't catch Road Runner. It was daytime and Sam had barely slept, having spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to devise a plan (the majority of which had very little chance of success.) Thus, he was stuck watching cartoons with the dogs and hoping to drift off to sleep to escape the heat—and maybe wake up with some better ideas.

It was uncomfortably hot in the house, despite Sam trying to turn on the air conditioning multiple times. He was starting to think it was a cruel joke, and wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before. Cracking the windows had helped a small amount, but after he'd seen a mountain lion from the upstairs window he'd decided to just suck it up.

He was wearing a fresh pair of jeans because the old pair still had sand in them, and had changed into a fitted white tanktop to try to help with the rising temperature.

The long-haired dachshund puppy grunted, arching its back to wiggle closer toward Sam's neck, and its furry tail began to thump against his arm. The cartoon broke to commercial and Sam sighed as he looked down at the dog, who seemed to be unaffected by the heat despite her long, golden-retriever-like fur.

"Good morning, Sam."

Sam inhaled sharply and shot upright, the puppy who had been leaning on him for support rolling underneath his propped up upper body, and tried not to relish too much in the cool air billowing off of the archangel.

Lucifer smiled at the puppy and looked back up to Sam, blue eyes trailing down his neatly outlined form in the fitted shirt, then snapping back up to meet the human's grumpy gaze with lifted eyebrows.

"Breakfast?" he asked, holding up one hand in snapping position.

Sam scowled and looked down at the dog underneath him, carefully scooting her out of the way with one hand as he moved back to his original position on the couch.

Frankie jumped off his toes and waddled over to the devil, tail wagging happily as he jumped on to his knee.

"Sure," Sam said after a prolonged pause while a giant bubble wand commercial played in the quiet of the living room.

The blond snapped, and suddenly Sam found himself holding a white leash, which was attached to a feminine white collar with a bow on the new puppy.

"I thought they might enjoy going out too," Lucifer said, sunglasses which hadn't been there a moment prior settled into the top of his spiky blond hair. "C'mon Sammy, don't look so _down_ ," the devil said, flashing white teeth in a rare toothy grin.

"Don't call me that," Sam muttered, getting to his feet reluctantly when the dachshund attached to his leash jumped off the couch with an excited yip.

_Snap._

* * *

****San Diego, California** **

* * *

Sam sucked in an unsteady breath, shivering as Lucifer guided him with a hand on his shoulder to an empty bar seat on a heated patio.

They definitely weren't in Oregon anymore—it was hot, and palm trees were sprouting just a short distance away from where they sat at a hipster-looking bar, which was a charcoal grey square building attached to what seemed to be the main restaurant; the inside looked something like a coffee shop mixed with an expensive bar.

Sam leaned back in his seat, looking around.

Small strings of circular lights ran from wall to wall of the patio, brushing the tops of the leafy green bushes. Strategically placed lamps and umbrellas, as well as the copious flora made the place feel impressively tropical, and definitely more upscale than anywhere Sam had eaten before.

Vibrant green plants with red and orange flowers blocked the surrounding street from view, the ground was a red rubber brick, unlit tiki lamps adorning the side of the building.

A bark brought his attention back to the leash in his hand, and Sam looked down at the new puppy, who definitely hadn't been socialized enough to be ready for the environment of the busy restaurant.

"Shh," Lucifer said, pressing a finger to his lips and looking lazily down at the puppy. The dachshund miraculously seemed appeased, and sat down next to Frankie, who looked at ease with his surroundings and was laying down, tail thumping the leg of Lucifer's seat.

"What can I get you guys?" a friendly voice drew Sam's attention away from Lucifer's distracting blue eyes, and he huffed a breath with a flustered expression.

"Could we see your brunch menu?" Lucifer replied, smiling at the dark-haired guy with the beard across the bar.

"Sure," he said, taking his palms off the bar that he had been leaning on and bending over, pulling out two menus and sliding one to each of them. A smile settled on his face as he seemed to _check out_ Lucifer, who was wearing a navy blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collar buttons undone casually and an amused expression in place.

Sam gritted his teeth, and narrowed his eyes at the decorative menu in his hands. His irritation was replaced with excitement as he read the salad options.

He'd never be able to eat a house salad again.

"Anything to drink?"

"A water," the blond archangel replied, looking over at Sam.

"Nothing," Sam said shortly, reading the ingredients on the vegan salt-roasted beet salad. He _loved_ avocados.

Lucifer drummed his hands against the bar to the beat of the music lightly playing in the back of the building, blue eyes turned toward the sky

"You like music?" Sam asked, surprised. "Isn't that too... Human, for you?"

Lucifer looked back down at Sam with a disappointed expression. "Angels created music."

"Oh."

Lucifer smiled sadly at Sam's surprised expression. "Before Michael took over, angels were not just soldiers, Sam. Many were artists."

Sam blinked in surprise, setting down his menu and turning, thinking of Castiel. "How many?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Most. We didn't need more than one soldier. That was Michael's job, and his alone. There is nothing in creation that a single archangel cannot handle"—Sam stiffened, jaw flexing at the implication—"But, since God left, and since I've been _contained_ , Michael has had any unwilling angels—altered. Like a true military man."

Sam paused, and there was a stretch of comfortable silence as Lucifer looked down at Frankie, making a kissy face that no self-respecting devil should ever make. Then, he realized Lucifer was talking about his brother, and felt a pang of empathy.

He remembered when Dean had put him in the panic room to detox off of demon blood, and how long the imprisonment had seemed to stretch. He was keenly aware of the similarities.

"What was your job, in heaven?" he changed the subject, clearing his throat and feeling conflicting emotions nag at his chest.

Lucifer's lips twitched into a lazy half smile. "We didn't have jobs. We just were. If I had a _job_ , it was to be Dad's favorite. The morning star, the light. Then, to play the shocking role of Michael's losing enemy."

Sam paused, and said nothing as the bartender returned with a glass of water, pushing it toward Lucifer who winked in thanks.

"Salt-roasted beet salad, thanks," Lucifer ordered smoothly, sliding his and Sam's menus across the table with one hand.

The bartender looked expectantly to Sam, then shrugged when he was ignored, nodding and taking the menus with him back into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly as the man went to the back to grab his salad. "What do you mean the angels were altered?" he asked slowly, mind flicking to Castiel.

Lucifer smiled at him, resting his chin on his palm and using his other hand to push the water toward Sam. "You've met Anna, Gabriel. Unaltered angels. The others—Metatron, Joshua, Zachariah—either went 'missing' or were military enough in nature to accept the new rule without a fight. Oh, and you've met Lilith, one of the many angels who left Heaven with me. Sweet girl, shame that demonism warped her."

Sam grimaced. "Seems like all the unaltered angels want to kill me."

Lucifer laughed. "I wouldn't let that happen, Sam."

"Because I'm your vessel?" the brunet asked bitterly.

There was a pause, and a waitress showed up with treat biscuits and dog beds for the dachshunds. Lucifer thanked the redhead, waiting for her to walk away before looking back at Sam, petting the head of the unnamed new puppy. She was curled up in the fluffy red dog bed, gnawing on the corner of the bone-shaped biscuit. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Sam felt his mouth go dry and blinked pale green eyes, his jaw flexing. He looked down at the table, tapping his thumb against the smooth granite. "I—"

"Here's your salad," the bartender said, placing the salad down in front of Sam's hand that was resting against the bar. "Your dogs are cute," he said, leaning on the edge of the bar and getting comfortable.

Sam looked up sharply, blinking at the guy. "They're not mine," he mumbled. "Thanks," he said, picking up his fork and starting to eat the salad—which looked like something out of a magazine. He almost felt bad eating something so artistic.

"Oh? They yours?" he said, turning brown eyes toward Lucifer, who was watching Sam eat with an amused, interested expression.

"They're ours," the blond said, smiling, still resting his chin in one palm. Sam choked on his arugula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos make me so ridiculously happy! <3 Thank you guys.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sprained my ankle when I wrote this and couldn't walk for weeks, so a lot of the following may be a little exuberant due to my cabin fever. Heh. Enjoy!

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

It was later that evening and Sam felt a little nauseated from teleporting back from the restaurant. The sun had gone down and the sky was purple, red, and orange from the view out the skylights. Lucifer had an arm wrapped around Sam's waist as he swayed, a half empty wine glass held in one hand and his puppy's leash in the other.

"Luci! You're back," Gabriel's voice drew Sam's attention to the kitchen, where he watched them with one quirked brow and a dryly amused expression. "I was starting to worry," he said sarcastically as he came in through the archway.

"Thank you, Gabriel. Make sure to heal him," Lucifer replied, taking a step back once Sam steadied himself by leaning against the brick fireplace, accidentally dropping the new puppy's leash in the process. She wandered toward Gabriel, tail wagging in a friendly manner as her leash dragged behind her, and Lucifer waved his hand. Both dogs' leashes vanished, and Frankie joined the other puppy in greeting.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of your special vessel," the younger archangel said, bending over to pet the dachshunds. "I'm a very capable dogsitter and babysitter. Sam is a bit like a dog _and_ a baby, so I'm sure I've got it."

Sam scowled as his hazy brain started to register the conversation. He glared at Gabriel, who was looking at him in that very _angelic_ way.

"I don't need a babysitter," he said gruffly, turning back to Lucifer and widening green eyes. "Where are you going?"

Lucifer looked exasperated in an amused way. "To dinner. I don't think you would like to come, Sam," he said warningly.

Sam blinked. It had been a little over four hours since his salad, and after the bottle and a half of wine he'd had, it probably wouldn't hurt to eat something. He wasn't feeling terribly sober.

"I want to come."

"Oooh," Gabriel cooed, laughing to himself. "I can see you two lovebirds won't be separated. Have a nice date, brother." The younger archangel vanished.

Sam huffed angrily, reaching up a hand to tug at his shaggy brown hair. "It's not—a date. We're not. I'm not," Sam said, flexing his jaw and glaring at the floor.

Lucifer eyed the brunet sympathetically, an odd emotion turning in his stomach as he watched the human run both hands through his hair. He stepped toward him.

Sam laughed sadly at the ground at some unspoken joke, not noticing (or at least not acknowledging) the archangel's presence. "Why's my life so weird?" he asked under his breath. And it was uncomfortably warm in the house again.

Lucifer stood a short distance away from the human, resisting the urge to reach out and heal him, to try and ease his apparent pain. He leaned against the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head as he watched.

"Do you make it hot in here on purpose?" he asked accusingly without looking up. Lucifer raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"Not with the intent of making you uncomfortable." There was a blast of cool air in Sam's direction, and his shoulders sagged in relief.

Sam scoffed, puffing up both cheeks to blow out a gust of air. "Like the temperature means anything to you," he said disbelievingly, mind whirling. Angels didn't seem affected by anything.

"I was very cold, for a very, very long time."

The temperature in the room dropped, rapidly. Sam felt like he might be sick as a chill washed over him.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling ashamed as he watched the angry, but almost hurt expression on the archangel's face. No, it was definitely anger. Lucifer wasn't capable of being hurt.

There was no response. Sam closed his eyes, the cold stinging his fingertips and ears. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, and green eyes popped open. He met intense blue eyes, and felt goosebumps run up the back of his neck.

"Why was it cold?" he asked after a beat of silence while the angel stood too close. He could see him breathing. It was weird.

Lucifer's hand on Sam's shoulder slid off. He leaned closer, voice softening. "I'm the morning star," he said, and looked up at the setting sun, then back to Sam with a lazy smile. "What better punishment?"

Sam swallowed. He could feel the body heat off of the angel now, it made the cold room more bearable. He could see the pores on his face. The sunset was starting to cast into the room, sending their shadows splaying across the dark, wide-planked hardwood floor.

He didn't look like an archangel that close. He had a different expression; lacking his usual sarcastic air of humor. His sky blue eyes were bloodshot, with purple shadows darkening the bottom lids. The skin peeking out of his collarbone revealed a patch of blistered skin.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, jaw slackening as he tilted his head at the damaged skin.

Light blond eyebrows raised, and then Lucifer had an unhinged expression in his eyes. Sam regretted asking and swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he felt his chest constrict at the proximity. He clenched his jaw and stood still, resisting the urge to move away. He could feel his skin tingling as energy—like electricity—jumped off of the unstable angel. He felt exposed; how you felt standing in an open field during a thunderstorm.

"Sam."

Sam caught a glance of their shadows in his peripheral and froze at the wings spreading out from either side of the other man's silhouette.

"Your wings," he said unthinkingly, turning away to study them. "You have wings."

Lucifer turned his head to follow his gaze, and let out a contained laugh. The shadow of the wings flexed and stretched, causing a chill to sweep through the room.

Sam gaped, his mind whirling as he looked between the angel and the dark form on the wooden floor. "Why can't I see them?"

Lucifer tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest thoughtfully as he rocked back on to his heels. The shadows under his eyes were gone, and the blister on his neck had vanished. He looked every bit an angelic picture of health yet again. "You could, if you'd like."

Green eyes lit up with unbidden excitement.

"Of course, you would have to say yes first. If I showed you them now, not only would you die a very painful death, but this vessel would explode."

Sam deflated, turning back to admire the shadow silently. "No."

"Hmp. You're no fun."

Sam jumped, the angel's cool breath tickling his ear. He swallowed, and watched as their shadows blended together, the wings looking like they spread out from his own silhouette as the angel sidled up against him.

It was strangely eerie. Sam stepped away as Frankie came running into the living room with his new puppy sibling at his heels. The sun dipped over the horizon, and the shadow of the dachshunds' wagging tails began to fade.

The hunter tilted his head back on his neck and exhaled, eyes closing, his mind offering the image of eyes as blue as the sky and an increasingly familiar, indolent smile.

"I need a beer."

* * *

Sam laughed tipsily as the cartoon coyote on the T.V. crashed into a red brick wall, setting his half-empty beer down on the glass coffee table in front of him, alongside an empty bottle of vanilla rum.

"It's still so hot in here," Sam complained tiredly, yawning and sinking back into the comfortable leather couch.

"Hmm, not to me," Lucifer murmured, stretching his arm up around the back of the couch. "It's cooler over here."

Sam scooted closer and refocused on the television show, his eyes shutting every few seconds as he tried his best to make it through the last few minutes. The show cut to commercial.

"Didn't y'have a dinner?" he asked, words slurring together as he pet the long-haired dachshund puppy that had just settled its head against his knee. He leaned heavily against the warm body to his left, not caring nor thinking about just who it was. It was an oddly pleasant combination, the cold air around them and the warmth of his skin.

The sober blond waved a hand dismissively. "It can wait," he said, and looked down at the sleeping puppy. "Have you named her yet?"

Sam looked at the puppy, eyes half lidded, and ruffled her honey golden fur. "Yeah."

The advertisement for a new cartoon played into the quiet of the living room, over the sound of the humming french door refrigerator in the other room.

"What is it then?" he felt the arm wrapped around his shoulders—which he hadn't noticed until then—shift as the angel straightened up.

"Lucy."

There was a surprised beat of silence, then laughter cut into the serenity of the room and Sam felt a wave of embarrassment, and blinking hard, lifted himself slightly off of the guy's shoulder that he had somehow fallen on to.

"Not after you," he said as he was shook with the vibration of the other guy's chest. "Like... I Love Lucy. It's a girl's name," he protested indignantly. He was unable to repress a small smile as the blond attempted to control his amusement—poorly. He huffed, closing his eyes and leaning back on the other guy for warmth.

"I like it," the blond said, lips brushing the top of Sam's tousled brown hair.

Sam tensed, alarm bells ringing somewhere in the back of his mind, but he felt a surge of relaxation and sleepiness as the angel exhaled. The commercial break came to an end, and Sam pet Lucy's ears as he watched Roadrunner.

Thirty seconds to the end of the show, he nodded off, resting his head on Lucifer's shoulder. The archangel smiled slightly, pulling the human against his chest, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

* * *

The musical morning alarm Gabriel had set was going off in the bedroom. Sam was bent over the toilet in the master bathroom, dry heaving over a pool of vomit.

His head was pounding, Lucy was playing with Gabriel who was whistling and dancing in circles in the bedroom, and Frankie was licking the bottom of his foot sympathetically.

"Frankie, stop," Sam croaked, swatting back one hand and propping himself against the toilet with the other. Sweat was beading at the base of his neck.

He cringed as he thought back to last night, pulling his eyebrows in and pinching his eyes as his lips twisted in guilt. He rested his elbow on the toilet seat and planted his face in his palm. "Dean is going to kill me."

_"Your love is better than cocaine,_

_"I need you more than oxygen!"_

"Gabriel, turn it off!" Sam shouted, jaw flexing angrily.

Gabriel whistled along with the chorus. "Sorry, can't hear you!" he called over the song as he turned it up.

Sam forced himself to his feet, using one hand against the wall to support himself as he walked slowly out of the bathroom. He gripped the doorframe tight enough to turn his knuckles white, Frankie standing by his ankles, sending the archangel a heated look.

"Oh Sam, do you have a headache?" he asked. "You look like you need an aspirin."

Sam's shoulders rose as he inhaled angrily.

The angel wiggled his fingers to the beat of the drums in the song.

_"Yeah I'm obsessed—with—you!"_

He snapped his fingers as the song came to an end and the smartphone that had been playing the alarm cracked in half. The sharp sound left the room blissfully quiet.

"Where's—Lucifer?" he bit out, eyes pinched as his head throbbed furiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me so freaking excited!


	9. Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta I am the Color of Boom for being honest with me when my first draft was ehh and helping me fix this chapter into what it is now.

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

* * *

Rain trickled down the windowpane of the small house in South Dakota, speckling the glass and drumming steadily against the old roof. The rough white noise and rolling thunder were accompanied by the sound of a boot tapping wooden floor at a steady beat.

"Where the hell is Cas?"

Bobby looked up from the book in his lap. "Looking for _God_ ," he replied.

Dean gritted his teeth and sent a hateful look over to their incomplete pile of ingredients that they'd gotten for their original plan. It turned out that archangels didn't just leave their feathers lying around, free for the picking.

Every minute he spent doing nothing while the apocalypse continued was pissing him off. At least Sam was holding strong.

"I think I found something, come here," Bobby's gruff voice cut into Dean's train of thought. "Might not be true, but your angel friend can find out."

Dean jumped up from his seat by Chuck—who was passed out on the couch—and crossed the room. He leaned over the back of Bobby's wheelchair, squinted eyes scanning the page.

"Bobby, this—"

"Hello."

Dean jumped upright and spun around, his gaze landing on a rain-soaked Castiel, whose trench coat was leaving a puddle around him in the middle of the room. Chuck awoke at an angry crack of thunder from outside, gasping for breath as he looked around the dim, unfamiliar room bewilderedly.

Dean's expression fell into a scowl at the sight of the angel. "Any luck?"

"No," Castiel replied disappointedly. Chuck was rubbing his head and swearing under his breath on the couch. Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man for a moment, looking contemplative.

"Cas, what do you know about the horsemen of the apocalypse?"

Castiel raised his blue eyes, his eyebrows pressed down. "Why?"

* * *

**Detroit, Oregon**

* * *

Sam was half-dozing in the living room on the couch, the skylights open and the original Air Bud playing on the curve screen. Fresh air and the pain reliever in his system was helping the pulsing headache in his temples. He was nursing a glass of water and hoping Gabriel had gotten lost in the backyard with the dogs and wasn't coming back.

The brunet grimaced at the all-too-familiar sound of fluttering wings, preparing himself for an obnoxious onslaught. "No, Gabriel, for the last time—"

"Hello Sam."

Sam's eyes flew open in surprise, and then his breath caught in his chest.

Lucifer had blood up to his elbow on one hand, the skin on his neck looked blistered and bruised, and splatters of blood painted his t-shirt and jeans.

The devil followed the hunter's horrified gaze and smiled. "Oh, how embarrassing for you to see me like this," he drawled. With a snap of his fingers, he was in fresh clothes, a black button up over a grey t-shirt, with the black sleeves rolled up to expose forearms, and a fresh pair of jeans.

Sam recoiled into the couch as the blond moved toward him, feeling like he might throw up again as his mind whirled.

"Where were you?" he asked hoarsely.

" _Honey_ , don't be like that," the archangel cooed as he slid onto the couch next to Sam. "It was just a business meeting, that's all."

Sam cringed, face going pale as he shifted away from the angel, whose blue eyes were oddly intense. He bumped against the end of the couch and Lucifer scooted after him looking amused, before finally tapping his index finger on the tip of Sam's nose.

Warm, soothing energy flowed through Sam at the touch, washing away the hangover completely. His stomach turned again as he got to his feet, trying to put distance between himself and the devil.

Lucifer turned his attention to the children's movie on the T.V., ignoring the look Sam was sending him. "Score for Air Bud! That dog's talented, huh?"

Sam pinched his eyes closed and opened them again, hoping that he'd wake up, and couldn't help the expression that settled when he realized it wasn't a dream.

"Who did you kill?"

Lucifer looked up from the movie, chest rising in a slow breath as he leaned back against the couch and crossed his arms across his chest, sticking his tongue into his cheek.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked finally, a pitying smile on his lips. "You're the only one I'm going to spare, Sam," he said lowly. "And not you, or Gabriel, or Michael, or your big brother is going to stop me. So why don't you stop _brooding_ already? Celebrate! You're special! Once we get rid of Michael it'll just be me and you and all the puppies you want."

Sam shook his head, eyes closing. "I don't want that."

"Why not? You don't fit in here. But with me, you'd fit in perfectly. Try not to be so biased and really give it some thought. I care about you, I want you to be happy, but you've got to give me a chance."

The brown-haired hunter looked down at his feet, feeling a swell of guilt tighten his chest. He had freed Lucifer. It was no wonder his own dad had wanted him killed; no matter how hard he tried, everything he did made him a bad person. Every decision he made, the longer he lived, he only caused more damage.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Lucifer said, a laugh thinly concealed in his voice, and Sam didn't look up when the archangel teleported less than a foot away. He knew all he wanted was a reaction. "You and I aren't so different Sam. We both want what's best for this world."

Sam shook his head, teeth gritting together.

"I could spare Dean"—his tone softened—"Bobby Singer, Castiel, and anyone else you care about. I could even let everyone die of natural causes. Please, Sam, I'm asking nicely."

"No," Sam said, trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. Dean would never forgive him.

"Don't make this harder for me. I don't want to hurt you."

Sam looked up and met blue eyes. "What's happening to your skin?" he asked, looking at the angel's neck where the blisters had been. They kept disappearing.

"Nick was a very willing vessel, but he's no _you_ , Sam," the devil responded, crooked smile faltering. "But no rush, right?"

Sam exhaled slowly and moved back to the couch to sit down, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his palms. He did his best to ignore the archangel who followed him over and stood by the armrest. His drunken memories of the night before resurfaced vaguely, and he felt a swell of guilt.

What had he been thinking? His time was running out to play house with Satan. Nick's body was crumbling and Lucifer wasn't going to keep begging forever.

"Sam."

Sam opened his eyes sharply, breath tickling his ear as the angel laughed.

"I can hear, you know," he said softly. "If you're going to think such rude things about me, at least do it when I'm not around."

Sam pulled his head out of his palms, startled backward when the tip of his nose brushed the archangel's.

Lucifer placed a hand on the couch on either side of the human, encroaching on his personal space and leaning forward with a look of blatant fascination as he scanned Sam's alarmed green eyes. The brunet swallowed, leaning back into the leather cushions.

"Your heart," the archangel said after a moment. "It's enthralling."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed in a stressed and confused expression. Lucifer smiled apologetically and pulled himself back, walking away from the couch and standing under one of the skylights as he watched the clouds. "Sorry, Sam, I'm making you uncomfortable." He ran a hand through blond hair, blowing air out of puffed up cheeks. "I'm not—in the best mood. Work is getting to me." The devil had an unreadable emotion on his face—which quickly changed to a sort of false cheeriness. "We should go out. Have you ever been to a rainforest? We could discover an insect together!" He sing-songed the final sentence temptingly, arching his eyebrows without looking over at the hunter.

Sam chuffed a humorless laugh, swallowing and blinking at the angel while the sun cast a shadow of his winged figure over the coffee table.

"No."

"No?"

"I've never been," Sam clarified, shrugging his broad shoulders.

The angel smiled. "Then let's go," he said, turning to face the human and admiring his own shadow.

He flexed his wings, the effect darkening the sunlit room. It was cold.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Dean stood, jaw slack but mouth closed as he scanned the papers in his hand more slowly than before. Anger, disbelief, and then fury stacked in his chest one after another. The papers wrinkled in his fists.

" _Chuck_."

Chuck laughed nervously, running a hand through his curly hair and shifting his weight in his beat-up sneakers as he edged toward the door. "Dean, listen, uh, I can't—no, I mean—"

"Dean, give the kid a break," Bobby said gruffly, not looking up from his book and taking a sip of his beer.

"You mean to tell me that Sam is _going on vacation_ with _Lucifer_ during the apocalypse, and I shouldn't be pissed?" Dean asked incredulously, swinging around to direct his glare at the man in the wheelchair.

Bobby sighed, slamming the book closed in his lap and wheeling over to the Winchester. "Dean, the apocalypse ain't just affecting you. It's affecting all of us. People are dying left and right. I know you're worried about Sam—I am too—but you have got to pull your head out of your ass and look at the bigger picture." Dean looked unabashed as he clenched his hands into fists and glared down at the papers describing Sam drunkenly falling asleep against _Satan_. He felt a new wave of fury. "Sam wouldn't be there if he had a choice."

"You sure about that Bobby?" He threw the papers he'd been reading into the older man's lap and stomped off toward the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my hiatus, hope you enjoyed. Next chapter will be longer, stay tuned and lemme know what you think. :-) Comments help inspire.


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